This Indigested Vomit Of The Sea,fell To

My Mind Was Once The True Survey Of All These Meadows Fresh And Gay; And In The Greenness Of The Grass Did See Its Hopes As In A Glass.

Thus, Though We Cannot Make Our Sun Stand Still, Yet We Will Make Him Run

Had We But World Enough, And Time, This Coyness, Lady, Were No Crime.

But Fate Does Iron Wedges Drive, And Always Crowds Itself Betwixt.

Now Therefore, While The Youthful Hue Sits On Thy Skin Like Morning Dew, And While Thy Willing Soul Transpires At Every Pore With Instant Fires Now Let Us Sport Us While We May, And Now, Like Amorous Birds Of Prey, Rather At Once Our Time Devour Than Languish In His Slow-chapped Power. Let Us Roll Our Strength And All Our Sweetness Up Into One Ball And Tear Our Pleasures With Rough Strife Through The Iron Gates Of Life: Thus, While We Cannot Make Our Sun Stand Still, Yet We Will Make Him Run.